


Phillies vs. Dodgers, Ebbet's Park, May 25, 1941.

by arabellagaleotti



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Baseball, Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, remember that baseball game that was playing when steve woke up?, steve is a suspicious bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabellagaleotti/pseuds/arabellagaleotti
Summary: “The Dodgers take the lead here, eight to four. Ohhhhh, Doctor! Everyone's on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game, indeed.”He looks at her suspiciously. “Where am I really?”She blinks, smiles. “I’m afraid I don't understand.”“The game, it’s from May, 1941. I know ’cause I was there.” He gets up from the bed. “Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?”OR,Bucky takes Steve to a baseball game.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Phillies vs. Dodgers, Ebbet's Park, May 25, 1941.

“Hey Stevie, hey Steve, guess what?” Bucky shakes him hard on the shoulder twice then hops off the bed, quick as a jackrabbit.

“Wha’” Steve mumble, though his cold. “What's wrong’?”

“Nothin’ wrong, nothin’ wrong,” Bucky laughs again, and Steve can hear him bouncing on his feet.

“Well there must be something if you’re so frantic.” He rolls over and lays eyes on him.He’s smiling, grinning like a cat. Nothing wrong. Bullshit.

“You know Billie?” Bucky asks. Great, he's gonna have to guess. 

“Billie on 49th?” Steve tries.

“No.”

Steve sighs. “Billie in the Bronx?”

“Nope.” Bucky giggles this time. _Giggles_.

“Who then, Billie on 14th?” He’s sick, goddammit. This cold's been hitting him hard all week. 

“Yeah, that Billie. You remember what he does?”

He sighs. “Buck, I’m tired, not up for a quiz.”

“What does he do?” Bucky presses.

“God, I dunno. Sell tickets?”

“Tickets to what, Stevie?” Bucky goads.

Steve groans. “Fuck. Like, games and things at the stadium.”

“That's right. That's right,” Bucky nods, “Do you know what’s playing at the stadium this weekend?”

Steve rolls his eyes. Of course he knows. “The Dodgers game.”

“Oh, that’s real funny. You see,” Bucky leans over the bed, “Bille couldn’t sell all his tickets, and us being real good friends and all...”

Steve sits up, so fast it makes his head spin and his sinuses both clog and unclog. “No. No. You’re foolin’ me. Surely. Surely.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not fooling you.”

“We’re going to the game?” Steve whispers, smiling just a little because he can’t help it.

“We’re going to the game, Stevie,” Bucky grins back. Steve takes three deep breaths, just to make sure he's alive, that this isn't a dream.

“I swear to god, if you're —”

“I’m not fooling you, Stevie,” he whispers, and his face splits into an even bigger smile.

“We’re going to the game,” Steve nods. “Right.”

“Right?” Bucky looks confused. Steve would give up his soul for the Dodgers.

“We’re going to the game!” he yells and launches forward to tackle Bucky around the middle in a bear hug.

“We’re going to the game!” he cheers back, and they dance like that, half-dressed, Thursday morning, on the cold bedroom floor.

...

Bucky and Steve dress up, as much as they can. Bucky actually looks smart, with a jacket and tie. Steve looks too small for his clothes, they hang off his skinny frame.

They subway there, and Steve imagines they are important people going to their important lives. They're not. But they could be, and the boy sitting with his mother half a carriage down doesn't know that.

When they get to Ebbets Field, it's already busy, and everyone is bustling about in the parking lot. The only people here in the Great Depression that can afford extreme luxuries are the rich ones, and they show it. Cars with shiny hubcaps and smooth leather interiors, women in fine dresses and coats and shoes.

It’s everything like he imagined, only better. People are laughing and shouting at each other in the parking lot, and it hasn't even started yet. Steve looks over at Bucky and grins, holding his hat in one hand.

Bucky grins back, starts down the stairs to get to their seats. The radio announcer is at it again, chattering away through his loudspeaker.

They find their seats easy enough. They ain’t great, but they are a hell of a lot better than the couch and radio at home.

“This is great, isn’t it Stevie?” Bucky yells over the noise.

Steve leans towards him as yells back, “sure is, Buck!”

He looks behind him, where there’s a popcorn vendor handing out striped cardboard boxes in exchange for a few coins. “Reckon we can do it?” he asks Bucky, and points.

Bucky leans even closer. “I got these for a reason, Stevo.” His pocket jangles.

Steve hasn't had popcorn in years, not since the block parties of his youth, before the depression. This brings him right back next to his ma.

The game starts, players running out to the field. The crowd gets to their feet, roaring applause. Steve grins at Bucky, stands up and starts to clap. Bucky looks like a schoolchild again, wide-eyed and innocent. Bucky hasn't looked that way since Steve's ma died and his sister got sick. Steve likes him like that, happy.

It’s a good game, fantastic really. The Dodger’s turn around their season and win the next two games.

Pearson pitches a curveball and The Dodgers tie 4-4. Reiser’s the best dude in the game, he really is, somebody to watch, sure.

It’s tied 4-4 but there are still three Dodgers on the field. In Phillie last month, Pearson beaned Reiser real bad. Now he’s gunning for a good hit. Reiser runs to third base, Durocher’s gonna wave him in. They miss the relay. Reiser hits a grand slam, but it stays inside the park. It’s 8-4, to The Dodgers, the crowd leaps to their feet in response, howling to the wind.

The announcer booms out, _“What a game we have here today, folks. What a game, indeed,”_ and Steve can only agree with his whole heart and more.

The game finishes, and Steve reckons that was the best 120 minutes of his whole life. They drift out to the parking lot, tugged out with the crowd like a fish in the tide.

It's still a lovely day, but it's heated up now, and Steve is buzzing and alive from the game. He undoes his top botton and loses his jacket, and they tumble out into the parking lot, leaning on each other.

“Did you see that last run?” he gushes to Bucky, and fans himself with a hand.

“Yeah, yeah, champ,” Bucky laughs, throws an arm over his shoulders. “It was great.”

They walk past everyone else with their fancy cars, They get to the subway platform a block down and descend into the ground, where it's even hotter.

They get home, and Steve is still all fizzed up, like a shaken pop bottle. He rants the whole day, week, month about it. Buck, who isn't quite a fanatic as him, gets sick of it pretty soon but rarely complains.

To be honest, he doesn't care about the game really as much as he should. He loves the memory more than anything, popcorn and Bucky and sheer happiness.

_\--_

_“The big fella sets, Pearson pitches … a curveball, high and outside, for ball one. So, the Dodgers_ _are tied_ _, 4-4.”_

_The Dodgers._ The Dodgers are playing. Steve opens his eyes, eyes focussing on a white ceiling.

_“And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fella’s capable of making it a brand new game again._ _Just_ _an_ _absolutely_ _gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field. The Phillies have managed to tie it up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on.”_

He starts to sit up, eyes scanning around the unfamiliar room. The only sound is the radio in the corner. It’s a stereotypical room, could be anything. Dresser, radio, bed. Hospital or trap?

_“Pearson beaned Reiser in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn’t the youngster like a hit here to return the favor. Pete leans in, here’s the pitch. Swung on,”_

He knows that game. He does. That was four years ago. He went to Ebbett's Park with Bucky. Why are they replaying games?

_“A liner to right, and it gets past Rizzo. Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher’s gonna wave him in. Here comes the relay but they won’t get it.” the door opens and a woman steps inside, the radio continues. “Pete Reiser with an inside-the-park grand slam. Oh my goodness. The crowd is going_ _absolutely_ _wild here at —”_

“Morning,” she says gently, then checks her watch, “or should I say afternoon?”

He tunes out the radio for a moment. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.”

_“The Dodgers take the lead here, eight to four. Ohhhhh, Doctor! Everyone's on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game, indeed.”_

He looks at her suspiciously. “Where am I really?”

She blinks, smiles. “I’m afraid I don't understand.”

“The game, it’s from May, 1941. I know ’cause I was there.” He gets up from the bed. “Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?”

  
  



End file.
